The possibility of reprisals is high but silence is not an option. So I shall speak.

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The nobodies….

“Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog,And nobodies dream of escapingpoverty.That, one magical dayGood luck will suddenlyraindown on them – will rain down in bucketsBut good luck doesn’t rain down, yesterday, today, tomorrow or everGood luck doesn’t even fall in a fine drizzleNo matter how hard the nobodiesOr if they beginthe new day on their right footOr startthe new year with a change of broomsThe nobodies: nobody’s children, owners of nothingThe nobodies: the no-onesThe nobodied- runninglikerabbits, dyingthrough life,screwedeverywhich wayWho are not, but could beWho don’t speak languages, but dialectsWho don’t have religions, but superstitionsWho don’t create art, but handicraftsWho don’t have culture, but folkloreWho are not human beings, but human resourcesWho do not have faces, but armsWho do not have names,but numbersWho do not appear in the history of the world, but in the crime reports of the local paperThe nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them”